


Since The Roof Fell In

by HectorRashbaum (FifteenDozenTimes)



Category: Bandom, Disney RPF, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Apocalypse, Crossover, Crossover Pairing, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/pseuds/HectorRashbaum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone you ask has a different idea where it started - the fires, the floods, the hurricanes, volcanoes, tornados, tsunamis, the rioters. And maybe it doesn't matter how it started, just that it did, that now the dead outnumber the living and Kevin's stuck waiting for a God that doesn't seem to be coming. Stuck waiting, that is, until Nicole finds him - her need to get away is strong enough to get Kevin off his couch and towards the last place Joe was known to be: Chicago. When they run into Brendon Urie, running away as hard as Nicole is, and Spencer Smith, with just as much to gain by getting to Chicago as Kevin has, it might be the first lucky thing that's happened. Because when they get to Chicago and Joe's not there, it's going to take a lot more than one person running away to keep Kevin going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Jonas Brothers Big Bang](http://community.livejournal.com/jb_bigbang/) (art can be found [here](http://to-say-nothing.livejournal.com/15170.html)). Contains offscreen character death.

Kevin waits for a week after it happens, waits for golden light and harp music and angels with open, welcoming arms and familiar faces. When they don't come, he waits, when they still don't come, he accepts that maybe he missed something and steps outside. Maybe getting raptured is more subtle than he always thought, maybe he just needs to leave his house, and he'll be there. Wherever "there" is.

The air is thick and acrid with smoke; there's a body on his lawn and a flashy car crumpled into the fence. There's no way he'll convince himself this is heaven, not without also convincing himself everything he believed about God, about sin and salvation and life after death is a lie, and he's not even sure he could do that if he wanted to.

Kevin goes back inside the house.

*

"I have service," Joe says, frowning at his phone. "But it's crappy, and the battery's going."

Demi nods, a barely perceptible twitch of her head; Chicago's burning outside their window, and she hasn't looked away since she told him to come look, in a voice too quiet for the awe it held. It'd be beautiful if it were a picture, if they couldn't feel the heat of the flames when they opened the window; as it is, Joe doesn't know how she can stand to look at it.

He texts his parents again, reminds himself there might not be service everywhere; texts Kevin, tells himself Kevin's probably too busy waiting for God to check his phone, texts Nick with shaky fingers and can't think of a thing to say to himself to keep his heart out of his throat.

*

Disaster movies always focus on big cities; Nick kind of gets why, because he's pretty sure NYC is the worst possible place he could be right now, and why would the movie go for anything less? Thing is, though, from everything he's heard this could just as easily be an apocalypse movie, and those kind of tend to be rural. Which means that either somewhere's worse than this, or there's nowhere that isn't the worst possible place.

And hey, those are both awesome thoughts.

New York's gone dark, flashlights and trash fires lighting people's paths, but so far Nick hasn't seen a single electric light – electric anything – working since he left JFK. His phone's a worthless brick in his pocket, battery gone dead searching for service it wasn't ever going to find.

Someone's lying in his path; Nick thinks for a second about crouching down, checking her pulse, but it's not like anyone could do anything for her now. He takes three steps before the churning in his stomach is too much, throws up on the sidewalk and leans his head against the cool glass of..Saks, apparently, and if you'd asked him he would've guessed he was in a way different neighborhood.

He turns around, presses two fingers against her throat. It's not all that surprising there's no pulse, so he basically just wasted the end of the last good meal he'll probably ever have for no good reason.

*

There's ash falling from the sky like snow, clinging to Brendon's hair, his eyelashes, blackening his skin in streaks and smudges. It's hard to breathe, out here, without windows blocking the worst of the smoke, but he picked this place for the view from the roof, and this doesn't feel like something he should miss out on seeing.

Plus, the house is getting a little crowded, too full of Brendon's ghosts, of Spencer and all his anxious energy.

"Mount St. Helens," Spencer says, close enough Brendon jumps. Speak of the devil, apparently.

"Huh?"

"Is where it started, I think."

Brendon went to the grocery store two or three days ago, before he knew anything, ended up in the middle of a riot. There'd been stories of more that night, no reasons why, just grainy video of angry mobs; Mount St. Helens had been the morning after that. But it feels a little better to blame it on a natural disaster than on nothing.

Spencer sits on the roof next to him, hard enough to send little clouds of ash swirling up to meet the rest. He wraps his arms around his knees, rests his chin on them, doesn't say anything.

Brendon sighs and gets up. "I'll start packing," he says, and leaves Spencer staring East.

*

Nicole drags them out of the car after she spends God only knows how long looking for a sign of life, even a little one. The car might blow up, might get plowed into by anyone else stupid enough to ignore all the "don't brave the roads" warnings, might have any one of a hundred horrible things happen that aren't what Chelsea and Jake deserve.

She's not used to Jake's dead weight - not used to any of his weight; he teases her about being tiny, gives her piggy back rides, makes snide comments about hooking her up with one of his friends so she stops third-wheeling (and then calls her first, the next weekend, makes plans with her before he ever calls Chelsea) – but it's worse when it's Chelsea, when this could be any of the thousand times Chelsea's draped herself over Nicole's back, whined about _I'm too lazy to walk, Nic, carry me_ , except for the minor fact that Chelsea's not breathing, isn't ever gonna whine at Nicole again.

Hysteria's leaking in at the edges of her brain, she can feel it, and if she stops to process anything – two weeks ago they were planning a road trip, an end-of-filming let's-pretend-our-fabulous-lives-are-actually-chores getaway, two weeks ago (four days ago) she had family and friends and absolutely no cause to think she'd ever have to dig even one grave – it'll get her, and that could be nice, letting her brain go fuzzy with panic, scary but numbing, but she can't.

She has plans to make, shit to figure out; first she spends the afternoon, into the evening, into the night burying her friends.

*

"There's running water, but fuck knows how long that'll last, or if it'll stay clean, so, y'know, maybe rethink how many showers you really need."

Pete's seen every single person in this room, in this house (aside from Bronx and Ashlee), go weeks without bathing, so his speech is probably pointless. But to the extent he pictured sheltering a gang of rag-tag refugees from the harsh apocalyptic wasteland that was Chicago (and who hasn't, really), he kind of figured they'd mostly be people he hadn't toured with. He hasn't had time to adjust his speeches.

No one's really listening, anyway, just sitting there looking various degrees of shellshocked (Ryan the most, which Pete is pretty sure is about 50% because he and Jon were playing the stoner recluse game and had no idea how bad shit had gotten until Andy drug them here, and 50% because if either one of them could've guessed the circumstances he'd be sleeping at Pete's house again, it wouldn't be these), checking phones halfheartedly for updates, whatever the Hell else it is you do when the world's ending outside and someone's trying to tell you common sense shit you already know.

"So, uh, yeah," he says, an unspectacular finish to an unspectacular attempt to make his rag-tag refugees trust he can get them through this and into whatever brave new world is coming after; he scratches at the back of his neck, and leaves them to figure out how to split three guest rooms and a handful of couches between fifteen-odd people so he can go remind himself Ashlee and Bronx are totally alive in the kitchen or wherever.

It's paranoid, sure, but he's not sure anyone would really blame him for not wanting anyone important out of his line of sight for too long.


	2. Chapter 2

_Day One_

There's someone (something, his brain supplies, maybe a wild animal, maybe this is a movie and there are zombies out there) banging on Kevin's door, has been for almost an hour (he thinks, time hasn't moved right for him in...days? Years?) but he can't bring himself to get off the couch. If it's someone looking for shelter, there are a hundred better places, empty places; if it's someone looking to rob him blind, he'd be stupid to let them in anyway. Even lying on his couch, watching the news broadcasts fade in and out of the static, is better than dying - it's not like he has any idea what comes after anymore, so even as depressed as he is he's not suicidal enough to let a murderer in.

"Kevin, dammit!"

Kevin hasn't eaten in he doesn't know how long, hasn't gotten off the couch until he stepped outside and realized God had abandoned him, and it takes a second for the voice to break through the fog in his head, for him to realize who it is.

He's thinking seriously about getting up off the couch for the first time since lying down when he hears the front door bang open, sharp footsteps in the hall, and there's the first living person he's seen in God only knows how long, Nicole with her hair wild, dirt and blood smeared on her clothes, her skin.

"What," he starts, but doesn't bother with the _happened to you?_ , because of course it's the same thing that happened to him, to everyone: the end of the world. Or whatever.

"You don't just not answer your door, you giant dick, oh my God, I thought you were - " She stops there, either because she can't say the word or she's finally registered just how bad Kevin must look. "You look like shit," she says, and nothing's funny, but Kevin laughs anyway; when she joins in, it's the best sound in the whole world, familiar laughter when he didn't even expect to see a familiar face ever again.

When the part of Kevin's brain telling him nothing's worth laughing about right now catches up to him, Nicole's on the floor, still giggling a little, tears streaking fresh tracks through the grime on her face, and he thinks again about asking her what she's been through. Except this is probably one of those times asking is pointless, one of those times the answer is gonna be something too big to say.

"I just," she says, stops and scrubs her hands over her face. "I needed to. Everyone else. So I needed to."

Kevin nods, like the broken fragments of sentences mean something. They do, if only because of what he was expecting to hear, and he was right, too big to talk about.

"What about, um," she studies his face, the stubble and the bags under his eyes, his unwashed hair, and he can see the answer she expects before he knows what the question's going to be. "Joe and Nick, are they - ?"

"Um, I haven't," _thought about it, can't think about it, what if_ , "heard from them. Um. I guess I couldn't, right, I don't think phones are any good right now, um, but."

"Would they have been at home?" she asks, quietly.

"Nick was in New York, he was - he had a flight? He was, um, getting on a plane, but I don't know - he might have been - he could've been anywhere when they started grounding planes. So. Uh. Joe's in. Was in Chicago, with Demi."

"Okay," she says, stands up, starts to tug her hair back and then glances at her wrist like she's surprised there's not a hair tie there. Her jaw has a set to it Kevin recognizes, from too many late-night _do you think we could find tacos at 4 in the morning?_ trips around the city, Nicole refusing to let them give up before at least five, Nick staying behind making sure they all know he's going to bed because he's not gonna be the one too tired to remember his lines for the next day. "Chicago. Please tell me you have some good walking shoes around here."

 _Day Three_

The car's too quiet; they tried Brendon's iPod for a while, but he didn't exactly have music appropriate to the situation all lined up. When "It's The End of the World As We Know It" started, Spencer threw it out the window without a word.

Brendon doesn't blame him, it's just. Quiet.

Spencer's driving about two miles an hour, the roads coated with ash, visibility almost zero. They stop every half hour or so and brush off the headlights, clean off the windshield wipers with shirts and underwear Brendon digs out of their duffel bags during the drive.

"You don't," Spencer starts, a day and a half in. "You didn't have to come."

"They're my friends, too," Brendon says, even though that's so oversimplified it's almost a lie. It should be in past tense, since Brendon doesn't even know the last time he talked to either of them (he e-mailed Jon a bunch of funny cat pictures, he knows that, but it was months ago, at least) and "friends" isn't really the word anymore. And it doesn't account for what Brendon would be doing if he didn't come, sitting on his roof suffocating on the ash, thinking about Shane and Zack and his small country of a family, all the people he knows aren't coming back, thinking about Spencer and wondering if he'll be one of them. This is Spencer's rescue mission; Brendon just needs something to do with his time.

Brendon must doze off in the middle of those oh-so-comforting thoughts, because the next thing he knows the car's stopped and Spencer's gently shaking him awake.

"Road's blocked," Spencer says. "I grabbed our stuff, we're walking."

The windshield's coated in ash, Brendon can't see what's in their way, but when he sits up he can see their duffel bags still in the backseat. "Uh."

"We're not carrying all that," Spencer says, like Brendon's being stupid (which, maybe he is, but he just woke up, he has an excuse). "Come on."

The walk is quieter than the car ride, no engine humming to distract from the fact neither of them are talking. Brendon doesn't know how long they walk - he knows he's tired, his energy comes in short bursts, isn't good for this steady wearing down of his legs, knows the rain of ash thinned out and stopped some time ago, knows Spencer has that look on his face that means he'll walk forever if he feels like it.

It's not quite dark yet when Spencer stops, they probably have another half an hour of decent walking light, at least, but Brendon's not sure he wants to complain.

"We're not even a little prepared, Christ," Spencer says, stalks off towards the left. It's not until they get close to the building Brendon realizes they've been walking across a parking lot towards the creepy shell of an abandoned Wal-Mart.

Nicole's almost back to the camping stuff from the cereal aisle when she hears it, squeaky wheels of a shopping cart and the low voices of someone, at least two someones, from a couple aisles over. And it's not like - she shouldn't, she shouldn't just assume everyone's gone feral, or whatever, but with all the rioting, with the way everything went to shit so quickly, it doesn't seem at all unreasonable to drop the boxes of cereal she'd grabbed and pick up a baseball bat.

Except dropping the boxes probably wasn't the best idea; she cringes when they hit the ground, again when one of the someones asks, "Who's there?"

"Spence, it's probably just, like, a rat. Or something."

The first voice doesn't answer, but it sounds like the wheels are squeaking away from her, not towards, so she relaxes a little.

Until someone steps into her aisle, someone who manages to get a golf club in his hand and aimed at her head in the time it takes her just to get her bat up. Nicole's supposed to be road tripping to Vegas right now, Jesus Christ, not being attacked by a crazed survivalist who doesn't think there's enough Froot Loops to go around, and this is not even a little the time to get hysterical but she just wants to...laugh, what the fuck.

"Spencer," calls the other voice, "what the fuck, where'd you go?"

"I'm not gonna hurt you," the guy (Spencer, must be, or maybe there are even more people here than she thought, this was a horrible idea) says. Nicole glances at the golf club, and Spencer actually rolls his eyes, Jesus. "Not if you aren't gonna hurt me."

"Spence, seriously," and then there's a cart rounding the corner, and the guy pushing it blinks at them like there's something confusing about what seems to Nicole like a pretty straightforward situation. "Spencer," he says again, looking at Nicole. "Why are you threatening Macy Misa with a golf club?"

He looks even more confused when the hysterical laughter finally takes over, bubbling out of her chest, too loud and too crazed in the otherwise silent store.

"I'm fine," she says, when she finally calms down, catches her breath. Neither one of them look like they believe her, and she doesn't exactly blame them. She's still clutching the bat, and there's cereal all over the floor from when her legs stopped holding her up and she fell right on her and Kevin's dinner. "I just," she starts, can't think of a way to finish. _Long week_ doesn't quite fit. "Did you seriously just call me Macy Misa?"

"Um," the guy who isn't Spencer says, and looks a little guilty, like he thinks he caused her mental breakdown, or whatever. "Yes?"

"You can seriously find someone you know _everywhere_ , Jesus, this is getting ridiculous," the guy who is Spencer says.

"I don't know her."

"But - "

"You're a fan," Nicole says, sort of asking but not really. She's not sure "fan" is the right word - her first guess is he watches out of some weird hipster irony thing - but it's the only one she can come up with.

"Totally," not-Spencer says, and holds out a hand. Nicole's still a little reluctant to let go of the bat, but Spencer put down his golf club, so it only seems fair; she drops it and lets not-Spencer help her up. "Brendon. The violent one is Spencer."

"Fuck you, she was violent first."

"I'm just gonna," Nicole says, starts to walk off to where Kevin's waiting, remembers she doesn't have any food to bring back and turns in the other direction.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

 _Yes_ would be a lie, really, so Nicole just shrugs and starts walking.

"We grabbed some food," Brendon says, "if you don't wanna go all the way across the store."

"Awesome," she says, and turns around to head back to Kevin.

He's got an air mattress blown up next to a whole bunch of lanterns in between; Nicole would've been tempted to start a fire for the Hell of it, but electric lanterns are probably less likely to result in their fiery death. He's blowing up a second mattress, which seems kind of dumb, there's got to be a pump somewhere in the store, but whatever. When he notices them, probably sooner than he would've without the obnoxious squeaking cart, he blinks a few times.

"This is, uh, Brendon and Spencer, they - "

"I know," Kevin says, "haven't you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door?". Which is kind of weird, because whoa, Kevin just swore, but he's smiling a little for the first time since she found him on his couch, so Nicole doesn't say anything, not even when she recognizes it as a lyric.

"Dude!" Brendon says, with way more enthusiasm than anyone holed up in an abandoned Wal-Mart to survive the apocalypse should, and flops down on the air mattress next to Kevin. "Campfire sing-along with a Jonas Brother, my life is complete."

He doesn't acknowledge that the song is his; when Nicole looks back at Spencer he looks like he'd rather not acknowledge Brendon. Kevin's still smiling a little, though, so Brendon can be as weird as he wants as far as she's concerned.

 _Day Four_

Brendon wakes up with his face mashed into the pillow, a normal enough thing for a second he forgets. When he opens his eyes, though, he's staring across a circle of lanterns, Kevin fucking Jonas sleeping on an air mattress, and Spencer going through their shopping cart of potential supplies with Macy Misa (he'll remember her actual name when he wakes up more, probably). Way less normal.

"It's pretty populated, isn't it? We shouldn't have trouble finding places to sleep."

They're frowning at the tent Brendon grabbed last night, and there's no way they're going tent-less.

"Do you really wanna take the chance the one time it rains or, like, acid snows, will be the one time we can't get inside somewhere?"

"I don't think this'll protect us against acid snow," Spencer says, but puts the tent next to one of the four backpacks they've got between them. "They're going to Chicago, too," he adds, "so we might as well walk together."

Brendon sits up a little, back whining a little in protest. He's nowhere near old enough to have trouble sleeping on floors, especially not with a mattress. "I'll feel extra-safe if you bring your golf club."

"You wouldn't make fun if I'd let her bash your head in. And you won't make fun when I tell you I still might."

Nicole smiles at him a little, keeps sorting mini boxes of cereal into the four packs. He thinks, for a second, about asking how old she is, because right now with the scared look in her eyes and the deep bags under them, she looks like she's either twelve or fifty. But there's some things you don't ask even when the world's ending, and he's not gonna be the one to make her feel like she's too young or too old for whatever it is she's going to Chicago for.

"Is cereal the best choice?" she asks, without stopping. "There has to be something just as portable with at least a little nutritional value."

"Brendon, explain to her why we don't have anything with nutritional value."

"Power Bars are gross."

Spencer and Nicole roll their eyes the exact same way, wow. That's gonna be fun for a million-mile walk.

"I'm gonna go grab some anyway. And that way, anyone who wants to live on cereal can, and the rest of us won't die of malnutrition."

"I think," Spencer says, watching her walk off, "I'm gonna keep her, and you and Kevin can fend for yourselves."

It's Brendon's turn to roll his eyes, then, but he climbs out of bed and steps carefully over Kevin to help finish packing. Within half an hour, they're ready to go, with Brendon's tent and Nicole's gross protein bars and a bunch of stupid hats and sunglasses Kevin found so they don't all die of heat exhaustion.

There are a couple cars in the parking lot in relatively good shape; Brendon hasn't even gotten anywhere near the first one when Spencer grabs his wrist, tilts his head towards Nicole, who's gone unnaturally still.

"She doesn't want to drive," he says, and Brendon wants to know why, because even if they run into another massive road block, any time they don't have to walk is good. But there are some things you don't ask when the world is ending.

 _Day Five_

"Why Chicago?" Nicole asks, after hours of silence (well, silence from her, Brendon hasn't shut up all day). Spencer frowns a little, because he was totally okay with their unspoken agreement not to talk about it after the awkward silence back in the Wal-Mart after _are you going somewhere specific? Chicago. Me, too_ , before _Um, so we could just walk together?_ and the conversation turned to how to pack up for that much walking.

"I have a," Spencer starts, stops, knows what word to use when he's talking to people who understand him and Ryan but not with a total stranger. "Friend," he finishes; it's not right, not even close, but it's true, so he keeps it.

Nicole bites her lip a little, glances back at Kevin, and when she speaks again Spencer gets why her voice is a little more hushed. "Do you know what it's like there?"

 _Windy_ , Spencer would say, if this was even close to a time for jokes, but Brendon's the only one of them capable of laughing, as far as he can tell, so it'd be a waste even if the thought of joking didn't make his throat close up a little. "No."

Nicole nods like that's a satisfactory answer, like there hadn't been a little hope lighting up her eyes when she asked that isn't there all of a sudden, and they go back to walking with just the relative silence of Brendon's singing behind them.

 _Day Nine_

Kevin has absolutely no idea what to make of Brendon. He's singing one of Kevin's favorite road-trip songs, from the freaking _Muppet Movie_ , and there's a part of Kevin that's kind of itching to sing along with him, words and music bubbling up inside his chest, up into his throat. He's not used to staying quiet when there's music.

Except he doesn't, because even if he didn't generally think of singing as a happy thing, of course that song's happy, and how anyone can sing something that happy when they're trudging along a deserted stretch of highway, when they're walking away from a city full of ghosts towards a city that's probably not in any better shape, it's beyond him.

Brendon sings almost constantly, sometimes achingly happy songs like this one, sometimes something slower, sadder - songs Kevin might be able to admit fit the situation if he didn't think singing itself doesn't. Nicole smiles at Brendon a lot, between worried glances back at Kevin (she looks back almost constantly, like she thinks he'll just stop walking if she doesn't check; she might be right), Spencer rolls his eyes a lot, and it's way, way too normal, it's like being in the car with Nick and Joe and Frankie, singing stupid songs with Joe until Nick snaps.

Sometimes, though, Brendon's silent, doesn't sing, doesn't say anything, and that's when Spencer looks at him like he's looking at a ticking bomb, that's when Kevin has to remind himself he doesn't know the whole story, doesn't know anyone's whole story.

"Footloose and fancy-free," Brendon sings, then stops in his tracks. "Spencer," he says, and "Spencer Smith," when Spencer doesn't stop. "I'm hungry. I think my stomach rumbling is keeping the vultures away."

"Then I guess it's in our best interests to keep you hungry, huh."

"Spencer," Brendon says, voice exactly as heavy and serious as Kevin feels, as Kevin thinks everyone should be feeling, "if you were a muppet, you'd be Oscar."

And then he's off again, singing like he never stopped, hurrying a little to catch up to Kevin and then falling into step.

Kevin's humming along before he realizes it.

 _Day Thirteen_

It's raining when they stop, has been for a while; Kevin passed out the ponchos he apparently stuffed in his bag so quietly Brendon feels a little bad about the urge to gloat when they finally get his tent pitched so they can hide from the storm. Especially since it's kind of too small for four people (not that he would've wanted to carry a bigger one, his shoulders are already sore from just the small loads Nicole and Spencer put together).

Kevin eats his protein bar and Lucky Charms quietly too, though, does everything quietly as far as Brendon can tell. Brendon thinks about singing a Jonas Brothers song, just to see what he does, but considering Kevin's wandering the country without his brothers that's probably sensitive. Probably why he's quiet, too, why he looks almost as much like a corpse as...well. A corpse. Not a specific corpse, Brendon's not letting himself go there.

"Now who's glad I brought cereal?" he says, instead of hugging Kevin, or telling Spencer for the fiftieth time Ryan's fine, or quoting his favorite Macy Misa lines just to see Nicole smile the way she was on the road when he sang.

"Shut up, Bren," Spencer says, but he follows with "thanks."

They eat in silence, otherwise; Brendon wants to say something because Spencer isn't making fun of him for actually shutting up, and it's those moments, those little things people do that he doesn't expect them to, don't do that he does, that make reality twist up tight in his stomach, _too_ real. But there's nothing that works.

"Just checking," he mumbles, when Spencer and Nicole walk off to get an idea where they are, when Kevin's too busy tracing patterns in the dirt with his finger to listen (Brendon's not entirely sure Kevin hears much, anyway, the way he shuffles along so dead to the world he might as well be a zombie), "in case I was wrong."

The sky stays blank, too cloudy for stars. Brendon keeps watching through the tent flap, waiting for an answer, but nothing comes, and he doesn't argue when Spencer walks back and tells him to get some sleep.

Sometimes no answer's as good as an answer, and Brendon knows by now when it's smart to stop hoping.

 _Day Seventeen_

When it's silent for too long, when Nicole and Spencer are quietly looking over the map or planning food rations or doing whatever it is they do to keep everyone alive and walking, Brendon gets fidgety, hunches his shoulders a little, drums his fingers on his thighs while he's walking and just generally gives off such an air of awkward anxious tension he makes Kevin tense up, too.

Kevin hasn't figured out yet where the line is, why sometimes Brendon's okay filling up the silence with too-loud too-happy singing and other times he retreats into himself, but even if there was no line it'd probably be unfair to put the entire burden of distracting them from all the things it's too hard to think about on one person.

"Joe met you at a party once," Kevin says, and has to fight not to cringe. It's exactly the wrong thing to say - the people who aren't here now aren't really a "safe" topic to talk about. But if Kevin were any good at controlling his brain, keeping it away from where it wasn't supposed to go, he wouldn't need Brendon to distract him, anyway. "It was all he talked about for a while."

"Really?"

"He was still in this phase where he thought there were, like, I don't know, points to be earned by talking to people who aren't usually punch lines."

"I make an awesome punch line, though." Brendon smiles at Kevin when he says it; he's either really good at faking, or there's still some genuine happiness somewhere in him. Good for him. "And I think I remember that. He was flirting with Ryan's girlfriend, which was kind of weird 'cause I think he was there with Demi."

"They spent a long, long time thinking we all believed they were only ever gonna be friends."

"She was flirting with Beckett, anyway. Thought it was gonna be interesting, y'know, I love when people do that 'I'm gonna flirt with you by flirting with someone else' thing, it's so _teenager_."

"I'm surprised you remember."

"I always remember potential teenager drama, come on. Also I had a giant internal conflict about stepping in before Ryan did something dumb or letting it go and enjoying the fallout as my own personal soap opera, so, y'know."

"Right."

The image is so clear in Kevin's mind, exactly like the personal soap opera Brendon wanted; they'd done it a hundred times, so many Kevin can substitute plenty of faces in the blank spot where Ryan's girlfriend would be if he knew what she looked like. Kevin had talked to Joe about it, once, after he overheard them sniping at each other, so obviously jealous it was kind of infuriating.

Talking didn't do anything, because the one time Joe listened to him and didn't start it, didn't approach some strange girl, Demi went right ahead and found herself a boy to flirt with anyway.

If that hadn't actually worked, if it hadn't finally somehow shifted from that awkward jealous arguing into an actual relationship, Joe wouldn't have been in Chicago, would have been at his place twenty minutes away, easy enough to check on. Of course, if Demi'd never met Bill Beckett, she could have been in a relationship with Joe all she wanted without bringing him to Chicago.

Then again, by the time Kevin couldn't find any news to watch, Chicago was just on fire; Los Angeles was flooding while ash buried it alive. So it's not like it really mattered where they were.

Brendon bumps his shoulder, little smile still on his face but without quite the sincerity, more like he's just trying to keep Kevin smiling. Because apparently Kevin can't manage to take the burden of distraction off Brendon's shoulders for more than five minutes.

"Sorry," he says, even though there's no reason Brendon would expect an apology unless he can read Kevin's mind. Which he can't, because if he can still smile for real, can sing while they walk, there's no way he can have access to this level of hurt.

"Okay," Brendon says, though, bumps Kevin's shoulder again before jogging the few steps it takes to catch up, sling his arm around Spencer and start singing something about wolves that sounds like it was written by a thesaurus.

 _Day Twenty-One_

"Ryan's in Chicago."

Spencer pauses for a second, but if he stops for too long he'll get behind, have to walk faster or jog to catch up, and when even Brendon's endless energy is flagging Spencer knows not to use more than he needs. Two beats, and he's walking again, next to Nicole in only a few steps. He should ask, maybe, how she knows about Ryan, why she would ask that, but Spencer knows himself well enough, knows how much effort it took the first few days not to mention it so no one would ask, knows if he was trying that hard, of course something would happen when he stopped trying.

"Yeah." Probably. Hopefully. There are a hundred reasons he might have left around the time everything went bad, since the trip to Chicago itself was a last-minute I'm-bored kind of decision, the kind he's made more and more of in the last few years. "Yes."

The way Nicole's looking at him makes Spencer's throat seize up, which is good 'cause there are words bubbling out of his chest, filling his throat, and he doesn't want to let them out quite yet. It'd be good to talk, maybe, but Spencer doesn't say things until he's sorted them out in his head.

When he doesn't say anything long enough for Brendon to finish the Bon Jovi song he was singing and move on to something Spencer doesn't recognize, Nicole just nods and turns, tells Brendon and Kevin to start keeping an eye out for a good place to camp, it'll be dark soon.

 _Day Twenty-Five_

Free market competition is occasionally a wonderful thing, and one of those occasions is when they keep finding clusters of similar buildings, when there's always more than one hotel to choose from, when there are two or three grocery stores within sight of every one they find.

It's bad luck he and Spencer ended up in one that's been almost completely picked over, but at least all four of them didn't waste their time. Hopefully, at least.

Spencer's staring at a can of ready-to-serve soup like he thinks the force of his glare can make it reasonable to carry - that, or like it insulted his mother - when Kevin finds him after giving up on getting more than three protein bars, a box of Cheerios, and a bashed-in box of Pop Tarts that are probably mostly crumbs.

"Tell me this is totally impractical."

"Um, just one can probably wouldn't be too bad."

"I'm not gonna be the only one with a hot meal."

"No, but I mean, one can each."

"We need bowls, though. And spoons. And. It's totally impractical."

This is the kind of argument Nick tends to start, the kind where it's actually impossible to win unless you agree with him, so Kevin doesn't say anything else, just turns to head out and catch up with Brendon and Nicole.

"If Brendon's driving you crazy," Spencer says, as they're walking out the door, "you can tell him to shut up. He won't get mad at you for not wanting to deal with someone being all...cheerful."

Brendon has an irritating habit of smiling at Kevin until he manages to smile back, even though smiling when he's this messed up is almost physically painful. And somehow all his favorite walking songs are all songs that end up on Jonas family road trip playlists, too many memories that are too hard to deal with right now.

But.

But sometimes when Kevin makes himself smile he almost feels better. And when he's singing he stops thinking about anything but lyrics, doesn't picture worst case scenarios so easily.

"It's fine," Kevin says, waves at the two tiny figures he can just make out across the street. "He's fine."

The Target is dim, electricity working but too many of the lights broken, wrecked in the riots, to light the place well. Nicole picks her way carefully around, Brendon close behind, following her until the headache-inducing lighting leads them to flashlights, then batteries.

"Maybe we should've packed more of these."

Nicole just shrugs; there's no reason to carry more than two. They should've claimed one, shouldn't have forgotten when they split up that Spencer had one and Kevin the other, but the walk's been hard enough on all of them without even a little added weight.

"Do Pop-Tarts go bad?"

Brendon went right for them when they got to the first food aisle, already had three boxes in his arm before he stopped to ask her, other arm extended towards a fourth box.

"I don't think so. Not if they're wrapped, anyway."

"Good," he says, grins at her. "'Cause I don't think we're getting enough fruit."

Nicole giggles, just a little, before her stomach twists up, the way it always does when she lets herself laugh at Brendon's jokes. She's not sure she's earned the right to be happy again, yet. Brendon watches her, looks like he's waiting for something, but she can't figure out what so she turns to the shelf and starts digging through the haphazard piles.

"So," he says, after ten minutes or so of searching and packing. "Kevin."

"Have you put anything in that bag with any nutritional value at all?"

"Subtle. Did you go to topic avoiding school?" Brendon pulls out a handful of protein bars. "And yeah, everyone's favorite."

"What do you want me to say?"

"He just seems, like...I dunno. Like, he doesn't know what happened to his brothers, but he's acting like they're - "

"I don't think there's any one way to act." Nicole grabs a dented can of ready-to-serve soup, considers it. It might be nice to have a hot meal for a change, and a can opener wouldn't be a noticeable extra weight. But the can's heavy, and it'd be unfair to bring just one, and she'd need to grab bowls, too; with a sigh, she puts it back. At least Brendon's practical about his comfort food.

"That's not what I meant. Just. Is he, like, okay?"

"Are any of us?"

"Nicole."

"I'd tell you if I knew, Brendon."

 _Day Twenty-Eight_

"I used to think," Brendon says, when he wanders out of the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, "I couldn't feel clean after a cold shower. But, dude, _running water_."

Kevin just nods, looks at the ceiling instead of Brendon's skinny chest - pink nipples drawn tight from the chill of the water, the cut of muscle disappearing into his towel - and takes a particularly vicious bite of his beef jerky. _You can_ , the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Joe, the one that replaced the old voice that sounded like either himself or his dad, says, _you can look now, the rules are different. You can want him. You can probably_ have _him_.

"Jesus. I think the shower was colder than the water bottles. You thirsty?"

"Little bit," Kevin says, and a bottle drops on the bed next to his shoulder. He could sit up and actually have a conversation with Brendon, Brendon who doesn't seem comfortable with silence, but he's not sure he can break out of his head enough for a real conversation. Nothing's right, and if Kevin can't get straight in his own head, he's not gonna mess with anyone else's.

"Oh, dude, so Nic and I found this the other day," Brendon says, and Kevin sits up then, because his mouth is too dry for more jerky and he doesn't wanna choke drinking water lying down, but partly - maybe mostly - because Brendon sounds really happy about something. "And she gave me Hell 'cause, y'know, we're not supposed to be carrying anything that isn't necessary, but this just, like, I thought you'd like it."

Brendon's not just happy, he's _beaming_ , teeth too white against pink lips. Kevin hasn't seen a real smile in months, not one this big, and it's almost too much. It's definitely too much when Brendon walks right over to stand between Kevin's legs, and...loops a scarf over his neck.

"I thought it might, y'know, 'cause everything's so ridiculous, just, like, something you'd pick up normally, might...y'know."

Everything's so ridiculous. Everything's _so_ ridiculous, Nicole and Spencer are sitting in the next room probably going over maps and working out timing and making plans like this is any ordinary road trip, and Kevin's over here having the biggest identity crisis of his entire life and Brendon's just smiling at him, dopey and hopeful, like a scarf is just gonna fix the fact there's no God and Kevin's life has been worth absolutely nothing.

Everything is ridiculous, 'cause Kevin thinks the scarf might actually be helping.

"Thank you," he manages, instead of the hundred other things in his head; Brendon just ruffles his hair and goes to dig through the food stash.

 _Day Twenty-Nine_

Insomnia's not something Brendon's ever had to deal with; running on a hundred times the energy of a normal person means he usually sleeps like the dead. But even now that they're walking all day every day, even though by the time they decide on where to sleep he feels like he can barely move, he hasn't slept right in ages.

It's a little better on nights like this, nights they grab a pair of hotel rooms and he doesn't have to strain to make sure whoever's closest is still breathing, rhythmic and reassuring, but he's been hovering around the line between asleep and awake for hours.

"I don't get it," Kevin says, so sudden Brendon jumps a little even though Kevin's barely whispering. He starts to ask why before he remembers it's dark and Kevin probably has no idea Brendon's awake, keeps his mouth shut instead.

"I know I wasn't perfect, I never thought I was, but I didn't - I _tried_ , I thought that was enough, I _tried_. Isn't that. I thought that was supposed to count for something, but I - things I changed, and things I did, and things I didn't do, and it was - it wasn't - "

Kevin draws in a shaky breath, sounds like he's crying, and the sudden stab of guilt in Brendon's gut is so sharp he bites his lip to keep from making noise. He's not supposed to hear this.

"You're not there, are you?" Kevin asks, and it's even quieter this time, and this would definitely be the time for Brendon _not_ to strain to hear, but he is, and he just. Fuck. "You weren't ever there, all the things I did for you and it didn't matter. And I don't know what I'm doing, where I'm going, why, and I can't even ask you."

Before he can really process it, Brendon's out of his bed and in Kevin's; Kevin has every right to shove him away, but instead he makes this noise that rips Brendon's heart right out of his chest, buries his face in Brendon's shoulder, and cries like his heart is breaking.

 _Day Thirty-One_

The skeleton of a city rises out of the horizon, hours before the printout says Spencer should have expected to be there. His stomach clenches up, so hard it takes his breath away, his legs stop. This is it, this is going to be it, once they're there they'll _know_ , he'll know for sure, and what if he can't keep going afterwards?

Kevin bumps into his back, apparently too wrapped up in whatever quiet conversation he and Brendon have been having for the past several days to notice Spencer stopped. "Sorry," he says; Nicole's looking at Spencer the same way she normally looks at Kevin. Maybe she gets what the complete loss of hope is likely to do to him when it comes.

"It's fine," Spencer says, forces his legs to start walking again so he can get ahead of the way they're all looking at him, far enough away he can't feel their eyes anymore.

The closer they get, the less terrifying the shell of the city is. There are burned-out husks, places the light shines too bright through what used to be buildings, and those make Spencer's gut clench more tightly, enough he has to remind himself to breathe, to do something other than try to figure out if he knows enough about the city to know which building Jon's apartment is - was - is - in without landmarks to help.

But there are whole buildings, too, thick silhouettes against the blue sky, maybe with pieces missing here or there, maybe they only look good from a distance like this, but it's easy to imagine escape routes, intact staircases, doors with handles that aren't too hot to touch, ways to get out and find somewhere safe to wait out the fires.

"Holy _fuck_ ," Brendon says, loud enough to shake Spencer back to reality, out of his mental image of Jon's apartment and all potential escape routes. Nicole's stopped walking; when Spencer looks back so have Brendon and Kevin. They're in the suburbs, or what used to be suburbs, walking down a street that was probably a really good neighborhood once.

Nicole's face is white as a sheet, eyes fixed on a house just a little way down from where they're standing. The roof's collapsed, top floor totally crushed, but it was probably a pretty house once upon a time, light blue siding showing between the charred spots.

"Let's," Spencer starts, but his voice catches, comes out embarrassingly squeaky past the lump that sprang up in his throat when he saw the look on her face. "Let's keep going," he tries again, "find somewhere we can rest and eat."

It's easy enough, then, to take control, to let the need to take care of everyone take over one more time. It's that need that shuts off every part of his brain but the _walk eat walk sleep walk_ loop they've been on since LA, and it's that need that gets them from the suburbs to the city to Jon's apartment building in a blur.

There's a foundation where the building used to be; a foundation, and ashes, and nothing else.

"Spencer," Brendon says, but Spencer doesn't want to fucking hear it, because Spencer has a fucking plan and if Brendon starts treating him like this pile of ash is the official End Of All Hope, Spencer isn't sure he can stick to the fucking plan.

"Tom's," he says, drops the stack of papers that had been directing them so far, pulls out a sheet that's just a little worse for wear from sitting un-looked-at at the bottom of his backpack. Spencer starts walking, doesn't look to see who's following him (if he looks, he'll see the building again, and there's probably a limit to how much denial he's capable of. He's not going to test it.).

Tom's address is just a few blocks away, somewhere in a row of intact buildings, and Spencer isn't - God, it's exhausting, letting himself hope enough not to give up, not letting it build up so much disappointment is inevitable, he just wants to sit the fuck down, sleep _forever_. But it'll be dark soon, they'll need to stop for the night, and he needs to know what the Hell the walk was good for before he figures out how to do that best, and he just -

"Which one?" Nicole asks, quiet, close to his ear, loops her arm in his. "You can sit, we'll look."

"No, I need to - "

"Spencer." Her voice is firmer, sharper, and God, he's just so _tired_ all of a sudden, way too tired to argue.

"1438," he says, hands her the paper even though he's not sure how much good it'll do.

"Sit," she tells him, in the same tone, and even if Spencer didn't want with every inch of his overused body to do just that, he's not sure he'd argue.

He's just lowering himself to the blackened stoop of the first building in the row when a bullet whizzes by Nicole's head. And Spencer should be scared, fucking terrified, because this is what they worried about the whole walk, crazy fucking survivalists pulling fucking guns on them, but Jesus Christ he just wants to find Ryan and sleep and this fucker is _getting in the fucking way_.

Brendon and Kevin are pressed back against the building, faces so white they're obviously reacting the right way, scared instead of bitchy; when the second bullet whizzes by, Nicole scrambles up the steps to join them.

When Spencer stands up, slower than he wants to, legs screaming in protest, there's silence, too much compared to the sound of gunshots, and then a scruffy, familiar head sticking out of a window across the street.

"Spencer motherfucking Smith, is that you?"

It's everything Spencer can do not to cry when he recognizes the voice, not to break down and give in and collapse right here on the concrete. Because the crazy asshole shooting at them...is exactly the crazy asshole whose apartment they were looking for.

"Tom motherfucking Conrad," he shouts back. "Of course it is. Let us the fuck up."


	3. Part Two

_Day Thirty-Two_

Knowing seems to have sucked all the energy out of Spencer, like all that was keeping him going was the question. Kevin gets that, though - if he knew, for certain, Joe and Nick were alright, they were safe, he's pretty sure he'd lie down and sleep for a week or two. Except Nicole wouldn't let him, probably, she'd push him the way she's pushing Spencer right now.

"I would've let him sleep."

"I wouldn't. He'd hate himself, if he woke up and a whole day was gone."

Brendon links his arm through Kevin's, as free with touch as he's been since they met, but it's different, a little, he's making less contact with the same gesture. Whatever he did to cause that (it's a lie, it's so easy to lie to himself, it's not "whatever", he knows what happened, knows he cried for hours into Brendon's shoulder, knows he was scared enough of waking up with Brendon he was in the other bed as soon as Brendon was asleep), he doesn't like it.

"So, Demi probably would've gone right for Bill, yeah?"

Kevin doesn't want to talk about this, God, he just _doesn't_. "He's the only person here she really knows, so I guess."

"Pete'll know what's up with Bill," Brendon says, so absolutely certain there's no room for anyone else to doubt. "And we'll be there soon."

The overwhelming urge to hug Spencer hits Kevin in the gut, where all his feelings are hitting him lately; if it weren't for Tom telling them Ryan was at Pete's, he's not sure he ever would've thought to go there. Still, Brendon's just guessing, guessing that Demi would have brought Joe to Bill, guessing she could have found Bill safely, guessing they even survived long enough to look for him, and if Kevin starts hoping now it's gonna hurt ten times worse when he crashes again.

Brendon's arm tightens in his again, less tentative, and Kevin only barely recognizes the song he starts singing but he's pretty sure it's Fall Out Boy.

It's bright, today, the kind of bright Kevin's learned to hate (cloudy's more comfortable for walking, harder to see the extent of the damage to whichever depressing place they're walking through), and the neighborhood they're walking through isn't bad - it's nice, obviously rich, big houses with big lawns, but what's really noticeable is the houses aren't burned - the only visible damage is the kind caused by rioters.

"Holy _shit_ ," he hears, someone hollering from a few houses down; Brendon's arm tightens in his a little, but Brendon's smiling. "Shit, is that - get Bill, shit, holy shit," in the same voice, and then there's someone tearing down the sidewalk at them, someone tackling Brendon before he can let go of Kevin's arm in a hug that has all three of them falling to the sidewalk. "You motherfucker, shit, you're _alive_ , you fuckers."

When Kevin catches his breath enough to see straight, Pete Wentz is helping Brendon up.

Spencer's only been to Pete's house out here a couple times, but it's enough to recognize it the minute they turn the corner onto his street; he manages to last until he hears Pete's "holy _shit_ " before he takes off for it faster than he would have thought his exhausted legs could carry him.

He can hear Pete hollering, still, can't (won't bother to) make out any of the words, can see Pete run past him but doesn't stop until he runs right into someone halfway from the door to the driveway.

"Upstairs," Patrick says, and later Spencer wants to grab onto him, make sure he's actually alive, actually real, ask how he's doing and tell him he's glad he's okay, but if Patrick's gonna make it clear he understands how low he is on the priority list, Spencer isn't about to stop him. "Second door on the left."

He shouldn't be able to do stairs, shouldn't even be able to walk any more, tired as he is, but whatever strength is left in Spencer is in his legs and he's inside and halfway up before he really realizes it. People are shouting at him, his name, _holy shit, you're alive_ , but Spencer doesn't know who's shouting and doesn't really care, not right now.

The second door on the left is closed but knocking is for people who haven't walked a billion fucking miles; when the door swings open Spencer sees mattresses all over the floor, clothes everywhere, and on the one intact bed in the room, a skinny boy with too-long hair and a three-piece suit (of course, of fucking _course_ ) scribbling frantically in a notebook.

"Ryan," he tries to say, except his throat is dry and suddenly wedged shut with a lump the size of fucking Chicago, and what comes out is an awkward noise that doesn't sound like anything. But it does its job, gets Ryan's attention, and when Spencer finally looks into those absurd baby-deer eyes, brown and wide with shock and _alive_ , all the fight goes out of him.

Ryan's already off the bed and halfway across the room when Spencer's legs crumple underneath him; lucky for him there are so many mattresses.

Kevin heard Pete yelling for Bill, he did, but he's tired, shaken from getting knocked onto the ground like that, and he doesn't put the pieces together until Patrick and Ashlee have led Brendon and Nicole into the house and he's left alone with Pete and the guy he would be really happy blaming for having to walk all the way to Chicago.

And, on that note, why the fuck is Bill standing here, why is he the one Pete called for, why not Joe or Demi, what if they're not here, what if they're not here because they're not okay, didn't make it -

"Whoa, Kevin, breathe."

"Where are they?"

"They were here," Pete says, "they were totally - "

"Pete."

Bill and Pete have some kind of awkward stare-down - even not knowing either of them well, Kevin's got his money on Bill, on those dark serious eyes it makes total sense for Demi to be all melty over. And he's right; Pete opens his mouth one more time, shuts it, grumbles and turns to walk back to the house.

"When he says were - "

"He means they're fine, Kevin."

"And they're not here because, what, too crowded?"

Bill frowns a little, but to his credit, however much he knows he's not saying what Kevin wants to hear, he doesn't break eye contact. "They went to New York."

The ground drops out from under Kevin's feet, but somehow he doesn't go with it. "So you don't know they're fine," he hears, in a voice that sounds like his except it's too much calmer than he feels.

"Cell service is spotty, obviously, and so far from what we've heard there aren't many places on the East Coast with any power. Demi was checking in for a while, but it's been...I don't know, the days kind of run together. A week, I'd guess, at least.

"You'd guess."

"You can check the date of the last message on my phone, if an exact number would help."

"No, it - I just - you _let_ them go?"

"I don't know, Kevin, you know Joe better than I do, but Demi seemed pretty sure - if we'd said no, tried to stop them, do you think he would have accepted that? Or would he have left in the middle of the night without the right amount of supplies or any idea how to get where he was going?"

Kevin knows the answer; Kevin's not going to say it out loud. Bill frowns at him, wrinkling his forehead so much he almost looks his age.

"Come on," he says. "I can show you where to clean up and sleep, and I can show you the texts Demi sent before she lost service completely. We can worry together."

"You look tired," Ashlee says, and a split second later manages to scrunch her entire face up. "Wow, of course you're tired, sorry."

"It's fine," Nicole says, because in the great scheme of things what the fuck does one misspeak matter anyway.

Ashlee smiles at her a little, this ghost of a smile, tentative, like she's not sure whether or not she's allowed to be smiling around Nicole yet. Nicole wants to reassure her, tell her no, other people's happiness isn't something she has a problem with, but she's more concerned with cleaning up (if they even have running water - they must, Ashlee's definitely clean), falling asleep, not waking up until she's fully rested and this is a distant nightmare. And Ashlee stops walking when she talks, so reassuring her can wait.

When she does stop, Nicole almost whines, but bites it back partly because that's kind of unfair, and partly because Ashlee's opening a door, revealing an office with a couple mattresses on the floor. "You get the corporate suite," she says, and yeah, that's about right, Ashlee strikes her as the kind of person who tries to joke but doesn't quite manage it at times like this. "With Greta, who's...somewhere, I don't know, out killing rodents for dinner, or something."

Nicole's just going to assume that was another joke until she's forced to admit otherwise.

"I figure, okay, so it's smaller than the other rooms, and you can't rotate who gets an actual bed like the guys in the guest rooms, but Greta's the type to appreciate a little maybe-don't-put-one-girl-in-with-six-guys consideration, and I thought maybe you would, too? And it's closest to the bathroom."

"Thank you," Nicole says, the most inadequate thanks of her entire life.

"It's nothing," Ashlee tells her, which does nothing to make it feel adequate. "Bathroom's right here. The rule, generally, is keep it quick because we don't want to tempt fate with the water supply, but I think you can be an exception, just this once."

"Thank you," still isn't enough, but it's all that comes to mind.

The room Patrick eventually leads Brendon to, after about a hundred stops where they both just kind of stare at each other to confirm yep-he's-alive, another hundred to perform similar alive checks (and _oh my god, how did you - where did you - Brendon, fuck_ s) with the entirety of the Chicago music scene, who of course would be holed up at Pete's, is full of mattresses but empty of people.

(The shower's running in Pete's bathroom, the one that shares a wall with this room, and Brendon can hear voices, almost too quiet to make out that it's Spencer and Ryan.)

It's familiar; it's the room Brendon usually stays in when he visits - a little smaller than the other guest room, but with a better view and less Eastern exposure. And it _aches_ , fuck, for the first time since Brendon climbed off his roof and started packing he has nothing to do except stand in a familiar space and let the reality - that nothing's the same even if Pete's fucking guest room is painted the same colors - smack him over and over and -

"Ryan, Jon, and Andy are in here already," Patrick says, talking-to-a-scared-animal gentle. "And I guess Kevin will be, too?"

"Yeah."

Brendon should say something else, because Patrick looks like he expects it; more than that, because if he can't talk to Patrick there aren't likely to be many people he _can_ talk to. But there aren't any words, there's just the sudden violent pain of a wound he'd been doing a really good job of ignoring.

"Did you - how are you - who - ?"

"Everyone," Brendon says, because if Patrick manages to actually finish the question he won't be able to answer it. "I - everyone."

Patrick doesn't look like he expects anything anymore; he hugs Brendon, too tentative, tells him to get some sleep, and leaves him alone with the mattresses.

When Brendon opens his eyes the room isn't empty any more. Ryan and Spencer are lying on the mattress right next to his, which seems kind of silly when a quick check confirms the actual bed is people-free.

There has to be a reason for it, because Spencer might be tired enough to sleep wherever he fell but Ryan has enough of a protective streak to make sure where he fell was the best possible place to sleep.

"Hi," Ryan says, after Brendon's apparently blinked enough times to confirm he's actually awake.

(The way Ryan's staring at him, relief just edged with worry and a touch of disbelief, is probably the reason.)

"I am amazed," Brendon says, while his mind scream at him how it's a bad idea, how they're not on good terms enough to joke with each other even if it was a situation where joking was okay, "that you and Jon weren't too high to notice something was happening."

"We ran out of weed, eventually," Ryan says, instead of _shut the fuck up, you giant ass_ , smiles a little. "It's, y'know, good to see you."

"Yeah."

"Spencer says you and Kevin are - "

"Whatever the end of that sentence is, it's not gonna be right," Brendon says, and to his surprise Ryan just nods and drops it.

 _Day Thirty-Three_

Nicole met Greta once, at a party she went to, one of those friend of a girlfriend of a friend of a friend invites she got so often once Chelsea started dating Jake. She only remembers their brief conversation because it was about the dress Greta was wearing, a pretty green dress she went out and bought in purple for herself the next day.

"Oh," Greta says, when she explains it. "I thought maybe I'd seen your show, or something. Anyway, if you need some alone time to freak out, I can go harass Spencer or Carden or someone into entertaining me."

"I think the last thing I want is alone time." People are good, people are distracting, people are alive and breathing and make it a lot harder to focus on who _isn't_ alive and breathing.

"I thought so." Greta and Brendon apparently went to the same school of dealing with people, where "I want people around" means "I want people as close as possible"; she sits right down on Nicole's mattress and manages a rare trick - a smile that isn't laced with either pity or trying-too-hard. "Is the other last thing you want quiet time, or would you rather we don't talk?"

Nicole opens her mouth to ask how Greta gets it so well, who she lost that left her feeling like Nicole does right now, but there's that rule she has, those questions you don't ask at a time like this.

"I'll take your silence as a maybe. Um, I don't know what Ashlee showed you? The bathroom's right around the corner, although you must have seen that, unless you have some kind of staying-clean magic that would be incredibly valuable on tour. There's laundry downstairs, if you want, or we can just, y'know, burn whatever you walked in."

The clothes Nicole walked in were her brother's, already dirty when she stole them to pack up before she went to find Chelsea; they're disgusting, with normal teenage boy grime, with the grime of trying to escape in the rain of ash they drove away in, with the grime-isn't-a-strong-enough-word of a month's walk through abandoned cities and a desert. "Absolutely not."

"Alright. But if they don't come clean, we're either finding you a smell-proof backpack or storing them somewhere other than this room."

There's no cruelty in it, and Greta's smiling when she says it. Nicole can actually feel herself relaxing (which might not be a good thing, not really, the defenses are keeping stuff out that would stop her from not dealing with what they're holding in) in the face of this too-sweet girl with the too-pretty dress.

"I need," she starts, scrambles in her brain for something small enough. "Air. Or something."

"If you're the kind of person who can handle having something familiar - I can't, God, it's like getting shot with something if I try to drink tea the way I used to take it - Jon's got a contraband fancy pants coffee machine in the kitchen. Starbucks, from the convenience of our lovely little hideaway."

Nicole wants to apologize, thank Greta for being exactly as nice as she should be but exactly too nice for Nicole to handle; her smile's weak and probably not as sincere as Greta deserves, but it's all she's got.

The Jon Greta meant, assuming he's the one working the machine and hasn't handed over the reins to someone else, looks less familiar than Greta but she still recognizes him from somewhere. Of course, so far it looks like everyone Pete's got here is a musician, so it might just be magazine-cover-she-passed-once recognition.

"You look," he says, and she's going to hit him if he says "tired" or "sad", "like a too-sweet person. Caramel, maybe? Hot or cold?"

"Um. Cold."

"Since I know Brendon and Spencer, and who Kevin is, I assume you're Nicole?"

She nods, even though he's not looking at her; he doesn't ask again, so maybe he's actually as psychic as he's pretending a lucky coffee-preference guess makes him.

"I even stole the right cups," he says, over the roar of the blender. "The total experience."

Apparently Jon takes his comfort coffee very seriously. Either he didn't lose enough to stop caring, or he lost so much he had to find something to cling to. Another question Nicole won't ask.

"Which band are you in?" is a question that she's pretty sure isn't off-limits. Jon looks at her for the first time since she walked in, smiles an entirely too-awkward smile, and pats an empty space on the counter near the espresso machine.

"Sit, I bet you could use the kind of boring my life story is. You can pass me cups, since I'm pretty sure I'm not getting Ryan The Cup Master back any time soon."

Nicole hops up; by the time she hops back down, the sun is setting, and her brother's clothes are folded neatly on the desk in the "corporate suite", under a note in loopy handwriting, _smell-proof gear won't be necessary_.

 _Day Thirty-Six_

There's absolutely nowhere in Pete's house to be alone. That makes sense, really, so many people in a house meant for a family and a couple guests, but it's not the accidental lack of space that comes from too many people in too small a space - people keep hunting Kevin down.

"I just wanted to check on you," Ashlee says, when she sits next to him on the love seat he'd found in a little room looking out over the pool. She sits far enough away she must be used to people wanting their alone time, even if she's not willing to give it. "Is there anything I can do?"

She probably can't go back in time and lock Joe and Demi up so they don't leave, or shrink the space between Chicago and New York so it doesn't seem like such a bad idea to go after them when he's still exhausted from crossing one half of the country.

"Not really."

"I figured. Um, if talking would help, you don't know me, but I can listen. I have to, with Pete, I'm not sure he's ever shut up."

Kevin was doing a lot better with the silence than the meaningless chatter she's using to fill it. "I'm just gonna. Get something to eat, I think."

Bill's walking down the hall towards him when Kevin shuts the door on Ashlee; of course he would be.

"I haven't heard anything," he says, totally unnecessarily - if Kevin thought he was getting updates he wasn't sharing...well, there's no real reason to uphold the Commandments anymore. "Can I - do you need - is there - ?"

What Kevin really needs from Bill, right this second, is to not be the outlet for whatever guilt he feels over being the one person who probably could have talked Demi into staying and keeping Joe with her.

"I'm just getting a sandwich," he says, and Bill takes the gentle hand from Kevin's shoulder and continues on his way.

The kitchen always has two people in it, at least, but those two people are almost always Nicole and Jon; Nicole knows how to deal with Kevin, or at least when to leave him alone, and Jon's either a quiet guy or Nicole's told him when to leave Kevin alone. Either way, the end result is he's generally better off in here than almost anywhere else in the house, no matter how empty anywhere else is.

"You look like a kicked puppy," Nicole says, while Jon reaches around her to grab one of the plastic Starbucks cups it's completely ridiculous for him to be using.

"Thanks."

"No, just, if you saw your face, you'd go out of your way to comfort you, too."

"I think what I ask for is more important than how my face looks."

"You should go find Patrick," Jon says, first non-coffee-related words Kevin's heard out of him since they got here.

"Sure, I want to be left alone, so I'll go find someone to hang out with."

Nicole's giving him that look she usually gives Nick right after he's been unnecessarily rude to someone who made The Mistake of making a mistake in his presence, but Jon doesn't seem fazed.

"No, go find him and tell him you need somewhere to escape."

The worst that could happen is one more person will know to leave Kevin alone, so he shrugs and follows Pete's voice (according to Brendon, the easiest way to find Patrick is to find Pete; Kevin might have questioned it more if that same rule didn't work for Joe and Nick).

Patrick just smiles at him, leads him to the door Bill had been walking away from when Kevin ran into him in the hallway; on the other side there's a studio filled entirely too full (if there is such a thing) of instruments.

"I'll stand guard for a little bit. 'Cause, y'know, house full of musicians, they hear a guitar and the urge to jam shuts down whatever common sense they might have."

Kevin could kiss him, if that wouldn't waste valuable time he could be spending alone.

 _Day Forty_

The one problem Brendon never expected to have, even when it was just him and Spencer driving and especially now that they're at Pete's with people everywhere, was too much time alone. But Spencer's always with Ryan (not that there's anything wrong with that, you walk a jillion miles to see someone of course you're not going to let him out of your sight), and Kevin's apparently Patrick's special project (and there's not anything wrong with that, either, Patrick's probably the best person in the whole world for the kind of comfort you need when most methods just leave you thinking about stuff you want to forget), and even though every single person in this house is a friend on some level, there's no one he wants to talk to. Even if he wanted to, everyone has their own problems; he can't just dump his on them.

But being alone is bad, because if there's no one he has to cheer up it's easy to forget that pretending to be cheerful is for his own sake, too. Because when he stops fighting so hard to look happy, there's energy left to remember shit, to hear Regan's frantic phone message about Shane drowning in his basement studio (he got there as fast as he could, he really did, but it wasn't fast enough), to see the exact results he'd been hoping not to see when he typed in the endless litany of family members' names back when people were still trying to document the dead.

It's not until there's a steady weight pressed against his back he realizes he's shaking, until he has to fight to hear Kevin's, "Shh, Brendon, shh," he realizes all the noise in the room is coming from him.

Brendon doesn't want to fall asleep, because when he sleeps he dreams, but he's so _tired_ , and Kevin's - is Kevin singing to him? God, that's - making him even more tired, really. Still, Brendon doesn't close his eyes until he's turned enough to see Kevin's face, so he can be sure he's not lying down with a ghost.

 _Day Forty-Six_

"So, Nicole," Jon says, just loud enough for Kevin to hear from the dining room.

"She's probably, like, sixteen, Jon."

"But you don't know."

"No," Spencer says.

"But you probably know other things, right? Like, I mean, you were with her for, what, a month?"

"You're asking me to use anything she might have told me while she was walking away from some unspecified tragedy to help you hook up."

"Hook up _again_. And no, I just - she's so sad, I mean, obviously she's sad, but maybe if I know why I can, like, help her talk about it?"

"And then hook up."

"I wouldn't be opposed," Jon says, just as Brendon snaps his fingers in front of Kevin's face.

"Patrick really wants to know if you have any threes."

"I need some air," Kevin says, and tosses his cards in Patrick's general direction.

Bill's in the backyard, because Bill always manages to be in the way when Kevin wants to get away from something. But he's pushing a little girl on a swing, yelling to Bronx to get away from the edge of the empty pool, and it's hard to be annoyed at him right that second.

Kevin makes his way over and sits down on the unoccupied swing (making Bronx, of course, sprint away from the pool because aw, come on, he was gonna swing, he totally called that swing).

"Welcome to day care," Bill says, probably the first thing he's said to Kevin that isn't pitying or apologetic. "There are what, fifteen people in this house? Give or take. And the second one of the kids wants to come outside and play, they all vanish."

The danger, as far as any of them can tell, has mostly passed; the city's fairly empty, the fires are out, as far as they know there hasn't been a new natural disaster in a month or so. Still, Kevin wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone else's kids - it's not like anyone had thought there was any danger before this all started.

"I assume you've met the mini-Pete trying to pull you off the swing. Given that he is mini-Pete, you may want to let him before you end up with a dislocated arm. And this one's mine," Bill says, punctuates it with an enthusiastic push that has her shrieking and giggling.

"I didn't know you had kids." Kevin gets up, finally, so suddenly Bronx lets go of his hand and falls over backwards.

"Kid. And everything you know about me comes from Demi, right? Generally, when I have a desperate crush, I don't talk much about the object's happy family life."

"Yeah."

Bronx is staring at Kevin expectantly; Kevin should make him ask nicely, say please, but he just walks around behind and starts pushing Bronx.

"I'm sor - "

"Stop. You didn't. It's not your fault, and I can't - it can't be my job to forgive you."

"Joe kept trying to text you - both of you - said if he knew one was alive he could go after the other one."

"There wasn't any service in LA. I didn't even bother to bring my phone."

"I just. It wasn't, like - he didn't go after Nick because he didn't - "

"If I weren't used to Joe and Nick's relationship by now, I think I'd have died of jealousy long ago."

The kids are both hollering now, demanding harder pushes so they can go over the top. They're so _happy_ , it almost hurts to listen to them. Of course, everything hurts, lately, so given the choice Kevin'll take the laughing kids every time.

 _Day Fifty_

After watching Greta break down and cry over a cup of coffee earlier, Brendon has a new appreciation for the fact that, incident with the guest room aside, he's so far found familiar things comforting, if a little jarring. If he couldn't sit and watch Spencer make a list and know that, whatever else is wrong, if Spencer's first urge is to make a list _something_ must be okay, he'd be fucked.

"Pop Tarts," Ryan says, jabbing his finger at the paper like Spencer wouldn't be able to figure out the next item goes on the next line.

"What the fuck is it with you two," Spencer says, but writes it down, anyway.

"We're concerned about the household's fruit intake, don't be a bitch."

"If I wasn't a bitch when you made stupid suggestions, the whole house would starve, so shut the fuck up."

"Ryan," Brendon says, turns solemn eyes on him. "I don't think you two are having enough sex."

"Speaking of enough sex," Ryan says, but Spencer slaps a hand over his mouth.

"If you're bringing up what I think you're bringing up, that's the worst possible way to do it."

"We've told you a hundred times, that's not an appropriate way to talk about kittens, or groceries, or anyone's mother."

"Bren," Spencer says, looks at Brendon with so much sincere concern in his eyes it's easy to forget he's got his hand over Ryan's mouth. "You don't have to fake it with us."

Brednon has to fake it with everyone, really, so he doesn't slip, forget how. "Whatever, what's Ryan bringing up so inappropriately?"

"You and Kevin."

"Wow. Okay, yes, that was exactly the worst possible way to bring it up."

Ryan finally manages to find the right combination of biting and licking - or Spencer's arm just gets tired - and Spencer drops his hand. "I think you need to talk about it, anyway."

"Talk about what?"

"We might let you get away with faking happy for a little while longer, but no way are we letting you get away with playing dumb."

"No, really, there isn't anything."

"You're sleeping together," Ryan says, with no inflection and too much all at once.

"We're falling asleep in the same bed, yes."

"We just. Be careful."

"I know a lot more about what's going on with him than you do, so I'm pretty sure I know better than you how I can act around him."

"Not with him, Jesus, his poor-little-lamb face has everyone in the fucking house looking after him. Be careful with _yourself_ , asshole."

Jon pokes his head in right then, which is awesome because Brendon has no idea what to say next.

"If you're planning a scrounging trip, the caffeine freaks have already finished all the coffee."

Spencer narrates while he's writing, "Jon needs more coffee because he's an idiot who drank it all."

When Brendon laughs, it's less because Jon trying to wrestle something out of Spencer's hands is never not funny, and a lot more because he's relieved the moment's gone.

 _Day Fifty-Five_

Jon pokes his head into the kitchen where Nicole's stocking the cupboards with paper dishes sometime late morning, sleepy-eyed and rumpled like he just woke up. "Feel like an adventure?"

Nicole's had about all the adventure she needs for one lifetime, but since Jon probably means something smaller than walking halfway across the country she doesn't hesitate long before saying, "Sure."

"Awesome. Twenty minutes?"

He ducks out before she can answer him, but whatever, twenty minutes is plenty of time for her to finish up and find her shoes, so she would've said yes anyway. She checks in on Kevin after she fits the last plate in the overstuffed cupboard; he's sleeping, sprawled out on the bed with his head on Brendon's thigh. His face is screwed up, every line of his body tense, but Brendon shakes his head when she reaches out to nudge him awake.

"Crappy sleep is better than no sleep," he says, and he's spending more time with Kevin than she is, lately, so he'd probably know; she just nods and wanders off to find Jon.

Whatever the mystery adventure is involves walking through the bad part of Chicago, where you can only tell there were ever buildings by the charred foundations. It's a long walk, long enough Jon packed them a lunch, and the sun's setting when Jon points to a completely unremarkable house in the middle of what was probably once a really nice suburban neighborhood.

"That's it," he says, but doesn't bother to explain what "it" is, why this house.

Nicole stops, for a second, because it should bother her that she went from wielding baseball bats at strangers to following Jon to a random house, miles away from where she's come to feel safe without even asking for a reason. But Jon's standing in the doorway, waving her over, so she lets that train of thought die.

The house smells like cookies, like someone's baking fucking chocolate chip cookies, which is ridiculous, but Jon grabs her wrist loosely and pulls her into the kitchen, where...

...where someone's baking fucking chocolate chip cookies.

"Bill," Jon says, and the guy with the oven mitts and Jon's soft brown hair turns around. "Cookies, seriously?"

"The morale boost justifies it. I'm pretty sure I'm not using up so much food we'll die of malnutrition."

Nicole tries really hard not to flinch, but something must show 'cause Jon frowns. "Bill."

"Right. Cope with humor in my head, not out loud. Mom's upstairs, she probably has something in mind for you to make yourself useful."

Mom. Oh God, this is Jon's house, this is Jon's family, this is. Jon still _has_ a family, which is just. The lucky _bastard_.

"Of course," he says, starts to drop her wrist while he turns towards the door. Bill looks at Nicole, quirks an eyebrow.

"Jon," he says, sounds like he's gonna laugh. "Manners, dude."

"Oh! Shit. This is Nicole, sorry. This is my brother, Bill."

Brother. Jesus, he just has everyone, he has cookies, and Nicole suddenly, sharply wants her parents, wants - Jesus. It's so much easier when everyone's in the same boat, when she can ignore it, when -

Jon's hand has gone tight around her wrist; he and Bill have similar concerned looks on their similar faces. "Maybe she should sit down," Bill says, and Nicole should be upset he's talking like she's not in the room, but he's right, she's feeling really wobbly.

She starts to reach out when he lets go of her wrist, try to pull him back, but his arm's around her waist before she gets very far. "Come on," he says, leads her out of the room, upstairs, down a short hall into a bedroom. "I. Shit, I'm sorry, I thought."

He doesn't seem to know how to finish; Nicole doesn't need him to. "It's fine, I'm just."

There are pictures all over the walls, Jon at various ages with various people. The wallpaper has cowboys on it, like the sheets.

"I, uh, wasn't gonna show you this until you were too tired to laugh. It was cooler when I was a teenager, but Mom changed it back as soon as I moved out."

"I'm not gonna laugh," she says, sinks down on the bed.

"Are you okay? Stupid question, obviously you aren't. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault I'm being stupid."

Jon's frown deepens, and he slides into the bed next to her, wraps his arms around her waist. "You are not."

Nicole wants to burrow back into him, let him reassure her as much as he wants to, but more than that she wants to go home and find everything normal and intact, and nothing's going to help with that. "I'm gonna sleep, I think. Um. You should go see what your mom needs."

When Nicole wakes up, sunlight's pouring in through the window near the bed, making her legs under the cowboy blanket uncomfortably warm. Jon's nowhere in sight, but she can smell his shampoo on the pillow; he must have come to bed at some point.

The clothes in the dresser look old, worn and outdated, but they fit her okay, and they're cleaner than what she came in, so she settles. The house is quiet, except for two voices coming from the kitchen, so Nicole heads that way, stops in the doorway when she realizes what Jon and Bill are talking about.

"No, it was supposed to be, like, spend a couple days around people who're acting mostly normal, so you don't have to think about it every second."

"I know what you were going for, just saying it didn't work."

"Obviously," Jon says, scrubs a hand through his hair. He looks so lost Nicole kind of wishes she were better at pretending, so he wouldn't feel so bad.

"So you're taking her home today, I guess."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna, like, keep rubbing her face in it. I'll come back in a couple days.

"I wish you'd just stay here for good," Bill says, pokes at the skillet. "We'd worry less."

Nicole steps into the kitchen then, enough that Jon notices and smiles at her. "Sleep okay?"

"We don't have to leave yet."

"Don't make yourself uncomfortable for me."

"We walked so much yesterday I'd need to stay and take a break even if I couldn't handle this. And I'm okay, really."

"You're not okay," he says, wraps an arm around her and tugs her to rest against his side. "But fine. Just, y'know, tell me if you need to get away."

Bill's looking back and forth between them; Nicole's not sure what he thinks he sees, but she doesn't exactly know what it is so it's not like she could correct him if she knew. "Eggs?" is all he says, gets plates out and serves them so Nicole doesn't have to detach from Jon's side until they sit down.

They end up staying for three days, doing odd jobs around the house, helping Bill cook, checking pipes and fuse boxes and whatever else could possibly break; Jon spends a fair amount of time taking care of his other brother's kids while his wife and Bill show Nicole a few ways to cook nonperishables that'll be nice when they're back at Pete's, a few more dishes to add to the limited rotation. But it's not like Pete's house, there isn't something to do every second, and whether the idea of bringing her here was stupid or not, she does start to relax. Jon fucks her in his childhood bed, slow and deep, kissing her quiet so they don't wake up the full house, and it's just. Nicole _likes_ it here. So maybe Jon was onto something.

"You wouldn't have come to Chicago if you had anyone left in LA," Jon says out of the blue, an hour into the walk back to Pete's. "I didn't even _think_ , Jesus."

Nicole thinks about telling him _it's okay_ again, or not saying anything, but her mouth opens and a reassurance isn't what comes out.

"The, uh, the second earthquake, the worse one, my house kind of. The roof collapsed. And it was. After the first one I brought a sleeping bag down to the basement, I just figured I was being paranoid, but it. I guess I should've insisted."

"You don't have to - "

"I haven't told anyone, yet. I don't know what Kevin thinks happened. And I just. I had to - I have these friends, I met her on JONAS and she and her boyfriend, they're just. I dunno. The first people I went to check on, y'know? Like if they were okay it didn't count as losing _everybody_. And they were okay, they were fine, but we tried to - she wanted to check on her family, so we tried. She drove, and she just. Driving was a bad idea."

Jon stopped walking at some point, but Nicole doesn't until the words stop coming, and he's a little ways behind her now. Which is fine, she doesn't need to see him pitying her. She takes a few breaths, calms down a little, and turns back when it's clear Jon's not trying to catch up to her.

"I'm so sorry," he says, for the hundredth time since he asked her if she wanted to go on an adventure with him; it's different, this time, his voice heavy with sadness, and she lets him hug her.

"I really like your family," she mumbles into his chest, and stops trying to make herself not cry.


	4. Chapter 4

_Day Sixty-Two_

Kevin doesn't like Jon Walker. He didn't like his easy smile when they first got to Pete's, because it's hard to trust someone whose smiles come effortlessly these days; didn't like the way he looked at Nicole, the way he kept inviting her along on his scrounging trips regardless whether she was busy at the time or not; didn't like finding them having sex on one of the mattresses in the room they share with Brendon, Spencer, Ryan, and Andy. He doesn't trust Jon's tendency to disappear for a few days at a time, or how subdued Nicole's been since she got back from disappearing with him.

Like, whatever, if he's one of those guys who think the appeal of being a musician is in the young groupies, whatever, good for him, but Nicole's been through way too much, so much she won't even talk about it, to deal with someone who apparently isn't bothered by the end of the world enough to stop smiling as long as he's getting some.

So Kevin doesn't like him, and Kevin doesn't trust him, except now Jon Walker's standing in front of him with an armload of kittens, and wow it's hard to think mean thoughts about someone with an armload of kittens.

"Just, Brendon said you're a cat person, and I just. I wanna go see if I can find the mama cat, and some food and stuff for them, and I can't just carry them around for that, it's not safe."

Kevin just nods, and suddenly he has a pile of kittens squirming over his lap, courtesy of Jon Walker.

"Awesome. I have no idea when the last time they ate was, so I'll see about a couple bottles and some milk or shit first."

"I. Yeah, right, sure," Kevin says, and then Jon's gone, leaving him with a whole bunch of kittens and a totally irrational sense of guilt.

They're little, probably too small to be away from their mother, but their eyes are open and they're only a little wobbly when they walk. Which, wow, cutest thing ever, wobbly kittens. Actually the cutest thing ever is their tiny little meows, except they're pitiful enough every one has Kevin more and more anxious for Jon to come back with food for them.

"Either Jon found you, or there's a bigger kitten problem than I thought," Brendon says, leaning against the doorframe.

"Um, no, these are Jon's."

Brendon just smiles a little, climbs onto the bed and scoops up the little gray one so he can stretch out next to Kevin. "I don't actually know if you're a cat person, I just guessed," he says, rests his head on Kevin's shoulders. When Kevin looks at him, Brendon's eyes are fixed on Kevin's fingers where he's wiggling them for the littlest one, the one with funny eyes.

"Good guess."

By the time Jon shows up again with an armload of bottles and towels, Brendon's dozed off. Jon only stays long enough to show Kevin how to feed them, and then he's gone again, with a nod to Kevin and a ruffle of Brendon's hair.

The sunset's vivid orange tonight, bright against the black silhouettes of ruined buildings. No one who was here the whole time comes out when the sky's like this, too much like when the fires were eating the city, apparently. No one but Jon, at least.

"We should head back," Nicole says, for the fifth time. Jon looks up from the basement window he's trying to see through, frowns at her.

"It's not dark yet."

"It will be by the time we get to Pete's. She's not here."

"You don't know that."

"Jon," she says, a little bit at a loss; he's not listening to her anymore, anyway, gone back to squinting through smudged glass. He found the kittens under a porch across the street, claimed they looked well-fed enough the mother had to be around somewhere. But there was no sign of her under the porch, in the ruins of the house, in any of the ruins they've poked through anywhere on the street. Maybe she was here, maybe she'll come back, but she's not here now.

"She might be hiding from us," Jon says, pushes himself off his hands and knees. "Maybe we're making too much noise."

"You wanna tell me how we're gonna dig through rubble silently?"

His frown deepens, thick creases forming in his forehead. He looks older, suddenly, looks as tired as everyone else for the first time since she showed up at Pete's. He lost his cats, she knows, remembers Spencer telling her he was kind of a crazy cat lady and the look on his face when she made the mistake of asking what happened to them, to his dog.

"We can come back tomorrow," she says, quieter; Jon slumps down on the steps next to her, rests his head on her shoulder.

"It'd be. I'd like to help _someone_."

When the roof caved in, Nicole couldn't get upstairs - even if she hadn't been scared out of her mind she'd get crushed, too, even if she'd really thought she could go marching in there and clear a path for her totally unharmed family to get out safely, there was no way up. No way in if she could get up. When she walked away, it was with the nagging worry in the back of her mind that she didn't try enough, that twenty-four full hours of trying the stairs at a slightly different angle, trying a ladder at every single window, that none of that had been enough and she could have gotten someone, anyone out.

"Yeah," she says, sweeps the hair back off his forehead. "You probably would."

She gets up and starts back towards Pete's without waiting for him to follow.

 _Day Sixty-Seven_

Kevin doesn't leave the house, really; he'll go out to get food or whatever if he's asked, but mostly he stays in, helps with kids or kittens or cleaning or whatever other jobs Spencer has on whatever list he's come up with that day.

But the house has been shrinking, lately, closing in and leaving him itchy, restless. Brendon notices, either because Brendon's really good at reading Kevin or because he watches too closely to miss that kind of thing.

"You okay?" he asks, the hardest possible question to answer.

"There's not enough air in here."

Brendon nods, stands up without a word and reaches for Kevin's hand. It should bother him, that Brendon expects him to follow, that Kevin doesn't feel the need to ask what's this, where are they going, even when Brendon leads him out of the house and in the opposite direction of the small part of the city he's familiar with.

They walk for an hour, long enough Kevin stops wondering where they're going and assumes Brendon's just taking him for a walk, chose this direction 'cause the fires weren't as bad here, the buildings not quite as ruined. He's about to suggest they head back, thank Brendon for getting him out of the house, say he feels better (it's not even a lie, not totally), when there's a sharp tug on his arm and Brendon's pulling him up a driveway.

To a church. The driveway to a church. One that Kevin hadn't noticed, because the steeple's just a charred stump, the stained-glass windows smashed in; it could have been anything, but the battered sign says it's a Methodist Church. And this is just. It's.

Brendon isn't pulling him anymore, and Kevin waits, holds his breath a little, waits for the awe and the love and the _fullness_ to flow through him, finally put his mind to rest.

He stays empty, though, finally has to let out his breath even though the thought of losing anything else from inside him aches, physically hurts. Brendon's watching him, watching all this, brow furrowed in concern, or anxious hope, or something. Kevin wants to say something, thank him for the effort, apologize for...something, for whatever he might have to apologize for, but nothing comes.

Inside, the sanctuary is cleaner than Kevin expected, dusty but fairly intact. Whoever smashed the windows apparently had at least enough respect not to damage the inside. There's a gold cross on the altar, almost gaudy in a world where people rioted over valuables at the first sign of trouble, stole and fought and killed when they still thought money might mean something.

And there's a piano. Despite everything, Kevin still expects some of the feeling church used to give him to start filling him any minute as he walks towards it; it was in music, always music, where he felt God the most. But just walking does nothing; sitting at the bench, running his fingers over the keys, playing the few chords Nick managed to teach him before he got frustrated (Nick's good at so many, many things, but teaching wasn't ever, won't ever be one of them), none of that does anything.

There's a music book open to "The Old Rugged Cross", too sad for Kevin to ever really like, but it was his mother's favorite (is his mother's favorite, past tense makes her sound dead, and he has to assume she isn't until he _knows_ ); he tries it, just the melody, but his fingers are clumsy and the notes aren't translating right from his eyes to the tips resting on the keys, anyway.

"May I?" Brendon asks. Kevin had forgotten he was there, almost, not used to Brendon being quiet enough for Kevin to get lost in his own thoughts for any length of time. He shifts over, because even if he can't play well enough to bring God back, maybe Brendon can. He shouldn't be sharing this with anyone, this hugely private moment, the almost-unbearable ache in his gut where the faith he thought couldn't be shaken used to live, but Brendon starts to play like he's known the song his whole life, and Kevin can't bring himself to regret letting him share.

Greta frowns and holds the needle out for Nicole. "I quit. Apparently my feminine whimsy has limits."

It's not much of a surprise; Greta's sighs have been getting more and more frustrated for the past half hour. And it's just as well, 'cause Nicole wants to give this to Greta and it probably doesn't mean as much to make someone work on her own present.

"The parts you did are pretty, at least," Greta says, running her fingers over the squares that end up on her lap when Nicole takes the hoop.

"You really didn't do that badly." Nicole kind of hopes Greta doesn't notice she's pulling out most of Greta's stitches; it'll drive her crazy forever if she leaves them.

Nicole probably shouldn't be working on this now - the colors keep blurring together, needle out of focus in her hand. She didn't sleep well again last night, woke up more than once to Greta holding her down so she didn't fall off the bed in the middle of her nightmare. But she doesn't want to stop, either; it's good for her, she thinks, to be normal a few hours a day.

"Maybe," Greta says, reaches out and taps her fingers against Nicole's knuckles, white from the force of her grip on the hoop, "different colors next time."

The quilt's muted, quiet, big spaces of blues and browns and smaller patches of oranges, purples. Nicole knows exactly what Greta means, what she thinks, because the thing looks like a walk across the desert. Nicole's not sure she could make sense of any other colors, though.

"I keep thinking, this is gonna be the day it gets easier, this is gonna be the night I stay asleep for a full eight hours, that it has to happen sometime so why not today?"

"I don't think it just happens, I think you have to work at it."

Nicole sighs, shifts on the couch so she can rest her head on Greta's shoulder. "I don't have any energy left."

"You'll find some," Greta says, rests an arm around her shoulder. "Maybe in all that coffee you're drinking."

When Brendon wakes up the church is silent, an uneasy stillness that settles heavy in the pit of his stomach. It's not big enough for Kevin to be out of hearing range; even if he'd fallen asleep like Brendon, wouldn't a pew be creaking, or something?

He sits up too fast, back screeching in protest from too long lying on the hard wood of the pew. He was right; Kevin's not in the room, unless he's lying down.

Brendon absolutely doesn't panic, because as weird as it might sound there isn't really much danger. Chicago's pretty deserted, no crazed survivors willing to do anything to anyone to _stay_ survivors (other than Tom, and Tom knows Kevin now), and even before the mass wave of natural disasters died off there was nothing happening here but the fires. Kevin would have to be extremely stupid to get himself killed.

Except.

Except he doesn't know the city, at all, and Brendon knows from a month spent walking cross-country with him Kevin doesn't pay even a little attention to where he's going as long as there's someone who can lead him there and back, so it's totally possible he walked too far and got lost. And Brendon has no idea how long it's been, so he could possibly be _very_ lost. Brendon could check the pews for him, go up and down the aisles and make sure he's not napping, but any time he spends doing that is more time for Kevin to get more lost.

If Brendon's back was screeching before, it's waking the dead with its cries when he jumps off the pew and darts to the front door.

Kevin's right there, because Kevin might seem like he isn't totally grasping the severity of the end of the world thing sometimes, might act like he doesn't know he can't just stop at a gas station and ask for directions or make a quick stop at a convenience store if he doesn't drink enough water before leaving the house, but he's not stupid, wouldn't go wandering off like that.

"Hi," Brendon says, instead of _sorry I thought you were an idiot_.

"I didn't feel anything." Kevin's sitting on the steps, cold rough stone, looking up at the sky instead of Brendon when he talks. "Not even - nothing."

"Do you usually?"

There's an awkward pause there, because that was a stupid question, because why would he have said anything if that was normal for him. Just, Brendon doesn't remember ever feeling anything in a church, not anything God-related. But fuck, he's stupid today.

"Yeah," Kevin says; Brendon waits for him to add _duh_ or _obviously_ or _you moron_ , but he doesn't. He wouldn't.

Brendon sits next to him, close enough he can wrap his arm around Kevin, comfort him with contact if that's what he needs, but far enough away he's not pushing it. Kevin lets his breath out in a long sigh, shifts a little and rests his head on Brendon's shoulder.

The sun's low in the sky, probably looked amazing through the stained glass windows before they were shattered, when Brendon shifts a little, says, "We need to head back, it's getting dark."

Kevin pulls his head off Brendon's shoulder, but doesn't stand up, doesn't move at all until Brendon turns his head and then he leans forward, brushes his lips against Brendon's ( _soft_ , Jesus, chapstick is kind of a luxury how are his lips so fucking soft) in the most innocent kiss Brendon's probably ever been a part of.

There are a million reasons Brendon shouldn't, Kevin's total fucked-up there-is-no-God state of mind being most of them, but he kisses back anyway, raises his hand to cup the back of Kevin's head and kiss him just a little harder, just enough Kevin knows it's okay.

Kevin pulls his head back a little, still close enough Brendon can feel Kevin's breath ghosting over his lips, can feel every word. "I want to go after Joe and Nick," he says, and there are a million reasons they shouldn't do that, either, but Brendon just nods.

"Okay."

 _Day Sixty-Eight_

Being around the kittens makes Spencer want to cry, because fuck he misses his dogs, because what are the fucking odds that so many people lost their pets and these impossibly tiny things survived. But he's 80% sure Ryan's going to choke one with the bottle, so he grabs Nicole and intervenes anyway.

"It's really not that hard," Nicole's saying, ignoring the kitten and bottle in her own lap to help Ryan out. "You just have to, like, _not_ shove the nipple down its throat."

Spencer's kitten, the little tabby Jon had claimed as his own with way more threats than were necessary to anyone who might challenge him, is drinking greedily, making these amazing little sounds that just. Fuck. Spencer misses his dogs. His mom's stupid lazy cats. His _mom_ , God.

"Ryan, what the fuck, stop," Spencer hears Brendon say, a split second before Brendon's leaning over Spencer's shoulder and rescuing Ryan's poor hungry kitten. "You're scaring my baby."

"She's not scared, she's hungry, and if you people would just _let me feed her_ \- "

"We're going to New York," Kevin says, stops the brewing argument in its tracks.

"You are absolutely not going to New York," Nicole says, goes back to feeding her kitten like that's the end of it.

"Um. Yeah, we are. I need to find Joe and Nick, and I can't go alone, and - "

"Let's not forget I walked with you guys the whole way here, I know _exactly_ how equipped you are to take care of yourselves walking cross-country."

"It's not really up for debate," Brendon says.

It's silent for too long after that, just the sounds of nursing kittens to underscore the quiet. Nicole sighs, runs a hand through her hair. "Fine. When are we leaving?"

 _Day Seventy_

"Kevin Jonas," the last person Kevin wants to see says; when Kevin turns he's leaning in the doorway.

"Jon Walker."

"I've been told to remind you if you pack more than one change of clothes Nicole's not letting you bring any."

"Understood."

Jon frowns a little, walks in and sits on the bed. "Also, that if I'm coming, I need to clear it with you, because Nicole has this ridiculous idea you don't like me."

"You're not coming."

"Not so ridiculous, then?"

Kevin doesn't have anything to say to that. Maybe if he doesn't say anything, keeps his jaw clenched, keeps packing, Jon'll take the hint and leave him alone.

"Did I, uh, do something? Because if I did, it was an accident and if you tell me what it was, I'll apologize for it."

If Kevin hadn't let Pete burn the couple outfits he'd walked to Chicago in, this would be so much easier - the clothes he's scrounged up from abandoned stores aren't exactly practical. Maybe they can do a "shopping" trip before they get on their way.

"I don't think it's unfair to ask what I did."

"If you need so badly to get laid, because that's what's really important right now, having sex, it's not like the world ended and people died, it's not like there's suffering all around you, if you need it _so badly_ , you could at least not take advantage of the scared kid who's, y'know, one of the people suffering."

"Whoa."

There's one pair of jeans at the bottom of the neat pile of clothes next to Brendon and Kevin's mattress, heck yes. Brendon is incapable of folding anything, so there's no danger he's grabbed anyone's pants but his own. He does have a t-shirt of Brendon's, but, again, didn't really think to get any practical clothes for himself.

"Have you, uh, called her a kid to her face?"

"I need to go see if they're ready to go, so, uh, this conversation's over."

"Okay, cool, I'll just, what, sit here and contemplate what a dirty old man I am?"

"It's not - just - "

"Not that this'll do anything for your opinion of me, but do you have any idea how many people here I'd slept with before this? Assuming you're right, and sex is my number one driving instinct, it doesn't really make all that much sense I'd pick someone I had to work to fuck."

"I'm just going - "

"And call her a kid to her face, no really, I bet she loves that."

Kevin just hoists his backpack over his shoulders, turns to get out of the room and away from the conversation he's pretty sure got away from him.

"Just out of curiosity, do you know what happened to her? Why she was so willing to get out of LA with you?"

"I can assume."

"But she didn't tell you."

"I don't see why it matters."

"She told me. So, y'know, while you're just guessing about what kind of suffering she's gone through, what she's going through, she thought I should actually know. But, y'know, I get it, I generally trust my booty calls more than my close friends."

"If you're not packed and ready to go when Nicole and Brendon are," Kevin says, standing in the door with his back to Jon, "we're leaving without you."

It's something to watch Pete and Spencer try to plan together - they're both good at it, there's a reason Brendon went to them, but they're so _different_ about the best way to do it. Pete's grinning like a weirdo at his screen, babbling about how awesome it is they still have internet, and even though Google Maps is exactly how Spencer planned the walk to LA, he's frowning like Pete not being serious enough about it is somehow going to change the quality of the directions.

"This is the same route I gave Joe, so if they haven't gotten there yet, or if something...happened...you'll be right behind them. Well, not _right_."

Brendon just nods; Spencer's snatching up sheets of paper as they come out of the printer like it's the worst thing in the world Pete didn't print them out last-page-first so they'd make their own neat little pile.

"And be careful."

"I'm really not as bad as Nicole says."

Spencer snorts; Pete just turns to look at him, maniacal grin gone. "That's not what I meant."

 _Day Seventy-Six_

"Will you stop fucking looking at me like that?"

Nicole's _tired_ , God, she didn't expect it to be this bad but every bone and muscle in her body hates her for doing this again after only a few weeks of rest. She keeps stumbling, not often enough to justify the way Jon keeps looking at her like he thinks she's gonna fall over and not get up, but often enough they've slowed to a snail's pace, resting almost every hour.

"Sorry, I'll just stop, y'know, giving a shit," Jon says, in that infuriatingly calm voice of his.

"Good."

"Maybe we should go ba - "

"I'm not turning around, for the five hundredth time."

"Maybe," Brendon says from behind them, tentative, "we should take another break."

"You guys can do whatever the fuck you want, I'm gonna keep walking." Nicole's good at being pissed off, fucking _excellent_ at it, and as soon as her body realizes she only wants to do it because she's mad her legs suddenly work, well enough Jon has to jog to catch up with her once he's left his backpack where Kevin and Brendon are sitting.

"Nicole, Jesus."

"If you want to turn around, turn the fuck around. You shouldn't even _be_ here, you have your fucking family in Chicago, why the _fuck_ did you come with us?"

"You - "

"I don't need you to take care of me." Ken was the kind of person who took care of her all the time. Chelsea, too, although she was a lot less big-brother about it (for obvious reasons). Caretakers are too important.

"I was gonna say your sunny disposition, except if that's my motivation I'm fucked."

"I'll try to be more cheerful."

"And, uh, I won't make any more jokes. Will you just calm the fuck down, for a minute? And you get all...I dunno, if you can concentrate on a mission or whatever, you stop worrying about yourself. And I just...don't want you to do that."

"How noble." She's smiling, though, even though she's not sure she's done being mad; apparently she's not as good at being pissed off when Jon's being all... _Jon_ at her.

"Plus, if you tire yourself out walking, who do I get to fuck?"

The thing is, she absolutely believes both of those are true, and that the actual reason is somewhere in the middle. And it should bother her, because her goal, the one thing she's pretty sure she needs to do, is to care _less_ , at least until it's safer, not find someone else to give a shit about until she's fairly sure the body count's not going to rise for a while.

They walk back to Kevin and Brendon, and Jon's about to pick up his backpack when he pauses, squints into the distance.

"Is he still there?" Brendon asks.

"Who?"

"The guy who's been following us," Brendon says.

"It's Bill," Jon says, squints into the sun and nods like anyone asked if he was sure.

The wait is excruciating. Jon won't let them keep going, says if it's important enough Bill left his wife and kid to come after them, it's important enough to wait for. Which is stupid, Jon isn't even supposed to be here, but Kevin's seen the way Bill is around his family enough to know that stupid Jon has a stupid point.

It's late afternoon when Bill catches up to them, finally, sun hot in the sky.

"I," he says, and Kevin braces himself for the big news Bill must have, "didn't bring nearly enough water bottles."

Nicole smiles a little, too nervous, obviously anxious to know what he walked out here for, and hands him a warm bottle out of her backpack. "I didn't pack a fridge, sorry."

"This is perfect," Bill says, doesn't seem to notice - or care about - the eight eyes watching his every move. He drains the bottle, tosses it back to Nicole with a grateful smile, and starts digging in his pocket.

"Bill," Jon starts, but Bill flaps his free hand at him, and Jon just rolls his eyes.

"I have, in the pocket of my impractically tight jeans - why did I think these were a good idea - a text message."

"That's great," Jon says, "but I'm gonna bet you didn't walk out here to show off your text-receiving capabilities."

"An excellent bet, you'd be a rich man right now if you'd put money down." Bill finally gets his phone out, tosses it to Kevin. "It's from Demi."

Kevin almost breaks Bill's phone mashing buttons; Brendon gently reaches out, coaxes the phone out of his hands. "You don't have a phone and this is the only other number she can reach us at, don't break it." He's smiling when he says it, with that look in his eyes he get sometimes, the one that makes Kevin think Brendon must expect him to crumple any minute.

 _Service! At last. Found Nick; headed back with him &Joe. About 2 weeks' walk away. Any word from Kevin?_

"I already told her we have you," Bill says, quiet; everyone's quiet, too quiet, barely breathing, waiting for Kevin to react.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. Um, okay. We need to. I need. We need to start walking again."

No one else stands up when Kevin does, which, come on, the sooner they get going the sooner they'll meet up with his brothers, what the heck is everyone waiting for?

"Kevin," Jon says, in that scared-animal-gentle tone that's apparently kind of insulting coming from anyone but Brendon or Nicole (or, occasionally, Bill). "Bill told them you're at Pete's, you should be at Pete's."

"That's stupid."

"What if something happens to you out here? Think about how you felt when you got to Pete's and found out you'd just missed them - you wish that on them?"

"Nothing's gonna happen," Kevin says, but he knows it's a lie. "I just. I need to."

"You need to sit down for a second, come on." Brendon tangles his fingers with Kevin, tugs him down as gently as he'd spoken. "Just. Be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable. We're walking the same route they did. They're a week away; if we walk at the same speed they're going I'll get to see them three days earlier than I would otherwise. And what if something's wrong with one of them, maybe it'll be easier for them to have a fourth?"

"They walked the same route out, it doesn't mean they'll walk the same way back," Nicole says, and Kevin's not a violent person but the next person to treat him like a rabid dog that needs to be talked out of attacking is gonna get - something.

"And if there was something wrong, she would've said in the text," Bill points out. "She knows there's plenty of people around, we could've sent someone after them if they needed it."

"She didn't know you could send _me_."

Jon sighs and stands up, helps Nicole up before he reaches for his backpack. Finally, finally, someone on his side - maybe Kevin needs to rethink his opinion of Jon Walker.

"We need to find somewhere to stock up before heading back; if Bill doesn't have any water, we don't have enough to share around."

Rethinking over. "I'm not going back."

"Kevin," Brendon says, and Kevin doesn't want to look at him in case he looks as desperate as he sounds. "Please."

"I want to see them," he says, like that wasn't obvious already. "I just want to - it's not the worst idea in the world."

"It's not the best, either."

Jon, Nicole, and Bill are already walking away, Nicole pulling Jon and Bill trailing after them. When Kevin finally manages to look at Brendon, he's watching them walk away.

"Will you come with me if I go after them?"

"Yeah. But we're not going to, because you know we're right, and you're not good enough at being stubborn for the sake of it to win this one."

Brendon stands up, reaches out for Kevin; his eyes are hopeful, not desperate, and Kevin can't not give in to that. He lets Brendon pull him up, hand him his backpack, yell to the others to wait for them. Bill's phone is a too-heavy lump in Kevin's hand, and he starts to pocket it before lifting it up and typing out a quick message.

 _Walk fast. Be safe - K2_

 _Day Eighty-Five_

"I just don't know what to do," Brendon says, burrows back into the chair a little more. "We know they're okay, we know they'll be here soon, but he's as bad as he was when I met him."

"He's powerless right now," Spencer says. "Before he had stuff he could do. Now it's just...sitting around. Sitting isn't exactly a good distraction."

Brendon should know that as well as anyone, better, maybe, considering the first time he let himself be idle since they left LA was the first time he actually thought about what had happened. Still, it feels like it should be different, like Kevin shouldn't need to be distracted from such a hopeful situation.

"Plus, if something happens to them between where they were when they texted and here, he's never gonna stop blaming himself for turning around. Like - it's what Ryan does, he's the same way, if there's something bad to dwell on he can find it."

"He's not gonna blame himself," Brendon says, has a harder time than he should forcing himself out of the chair and towards the stairs. "He's gonna blame me."

Kevin looks smaller every time Brendon sees him, curled up tighter on the bed it's their turn to have for the night than he was when Brendon tried to get him to get up and have some lunch. But he unfolds a little when Brendon slides onto the bed, at least enough to shift so Brendon's holding him.

"Any news?" he asks, like the last update hadn't come less than three hours ago.

"No. You know Bill'll tell you right away when something happens."

"Yeah."

The room is too quiet, hasn't been this quiet for weeks. Or, it has, during the day, but Brendon's never in it during the day, and he's used to the sounds of six - seven if Nicole sleeps on Jon's mattress with him - people breathing.

"I - " he starts, but he doesn't know what to say next, knows he wants to break the silence but, for once, not how. So he does the only thing he can think of, or at least the first thing, tilts Kevin's chin up and kisses him softly.

"Brendon," he says, when Brendon pulls away, and God, he sounds so _tired_ for someone who's been sleeping almost constantly since they got back. "I don't think - this isn't -"

"It's okay," Brendon says, except he can't say that, shouldn't say that, doesn't know what Kevin's objections are or whether they're anything he can brush off with two words.

"I'm kind of a mess," Kevin says, turns his face into Brendon's shoulder so the words are hard to catch. "I'm not - I spent a long, long time convincing myself this wasn't something I wanted."

"You've only known me for a couple months, not a long, long time." This isn't any kind of time to joke, and he's not sure Kevin's in the right place, mentally, to know that Brendon is just joking, not misunderstanding.

"I'm a mess."

"Kevin, look the fuck around, everyone's a mess."

"But."

Brendon tangles his fingers in Kevin's curls, tugs lightly, just enough to get Kevin to look up at him. "I don't think you actually do have a 'but'."

"If I didn't," Kevin says, and dear Lord he's actually smiling - a tiny, pathetic little ghost of a smile but it's _there_ , "buying jeans would be a lot easier."

"I think I need to kiss you again."

"I'm still not sure I should let you."

"But you're going to."

It's a question, but it's not; Kevin answers by not answering, just tilts his head up without the coaxing of Brendon's fingers and meets him in the middle.

 _Day Ninety_

Spencer Smith is the most anal person Kevin's ever met; there are still bodies in the streets in some places, the stores within easy walking distance are getting emptier and emptier, and the guy still makes these incredibly neat "shopping" lists, sorted by category and with a small note next to some things so they know which recipe it's for.

"It's like crack for him," Brendon says, tucks the folded list into Kevin's pocket. "Watch him sometime; his eyes get all glazed over. I think I caught him drooling over a chore wheel, once."

Kevin smiles, but it must be weak 'cause Brendon doesn't smile back.

"If you wanna stay at the house, I don't mind. Ryan'll come with me."

"No, I need to do something other than lie there. Just. If they come when I'm gone, I don't want them to worry."

"I think there are enough people here that someone can explain you just stepped out for a minute."

"Yeah."

Brendon's smiling now, smiling as he loops his arm loosely around Kevin's waist and guides him across Pete's backyard. "You should check the list again before we get too far, in case there's a specific order Spencer wants us to go in."

"I - "

"Kevin! Holy - Kevin! _Kevin!_ "

Kevin's mouth snaps shut when he hears his name, Greta's voice high and panicky. He looks at Brendon, like Brendon would know any better than Kevin why she's yelling; he looks as confused as Kevin feels, and drops his arm from Kevin's waist like it burned him so Kevin can spin around and run back through the house, follow her voice to the front door.

"Kev - Jesus, there you are."

"What - "

" _Look_ ," she says, insistent, and grabs his arm so she can turn him in the right direction. Pointing would have been - oh. _Oh_.

At the end of Pete's absurdly long driveway is the most beautiful sight Kevin's seen in his entire life, bar none - three people, filthy, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, slowly making their way towards the house.

They made it.


End file.
